little too fast for comfort."

"Is that so?" Mr. Harrison asked, looking up from his turkey bone.

"Yes, sir; his loss at cards was tremendously heavy last week; would
have broken a less solid man. He had been drinking when he played
last, and made horridly flat moves."

"Disgraceful!" murmured Mr. Harrison; and then he took another sip of
his home-made wine.

There were homes representing this same church that were not so
stylish, or fashionable, or wealthy. Mrs. Brower and her daughter
Jenny had to lay aside their best dresses, and all the array of
Sunday toilet, which represented their very best, and repair to the
kitchen to cook their own Sunday dinners. "Was it a thoughtful
dwelling upon such verses of Scripture as had been presented that
morning which made the Sunday dinner the most elaborate, the most
carefully prepared, and more general in its variety, than any other
dinner in the week? Their breakfast hour was late, and, by putting
the dinner hour at half-past three, it gave them time to be
elaborate, according to their definition of that word. Not being
cumbered with hired help, mother and daughter could have
confidential Sabbath conversations with each other as they worked.
So while Mrs. Brower carefully washed and stuffed the two plump
chickens, Jennie prepared squash, and turnip, and potatoes for
cooking, planning meanwhile for the hot apple sauce, and a side dish
or two for dessert, and the two talked.

"Well, did you get an invitation?" the mother asked, and the tone of